Seven Dials

“Yes, sir. And who would that be?” the man asked.

“He came here in the early morning in the second week of September,” Narraway replied. “A young man who brought a servant with him. He could be suffering delirium, nightmares and the effects of opium. You ca

“You don’t know his name, sir?” The man scowled.

“Of course I know his name!” Narraway snapped. “I do not know by what name he was admitted here. Don’t pretend to be a fool. I have already informed you that I am on Her Majesty’s business of state. Do I need to spell out more for you?”

“No, no, sir, I…” The man did not know how to finish the sentence. He swiveled around and scuttled off across the hallway and then turned right, along the first wide corridor, Narraway on his heels.

Pitt’s mouth was dry and he was gulping air as he followed them through empty passages with blind walls and locked doors on either side. He heard muffled moaning, laughter rising higher and higher and ending in a shriek. He wanted to drive it from his head, but he could not.

Finally they arrived at the end of the wing and the attendant hesitated, fishing for the keys on his belt, glancing nervously at Narraway.

Narraway gave him an icy stare, and the man fumbled, poking the key blindly, stabbing at the hole until Pitt could sense Narraway on the edge of snatching it from him.

The key slid in and turned the lock at last. Pitt half expected to hear screaming and braced himself for the attempted escape of a lunatic. Instead the door swung wide open to show two straw mattresses on the floor, one occupied by a figure crouched over, head half buried in a gray blanket, hair wild, and what they could see of his face unshaven.

On the other mattress a man sat up slowly and blinked at them, his eyes full of fear and a kind of despair, as if he no longer even hoped for anything except more pain. But there was still reason in him, at least at the moment.

“What is your name?” Narraway said, immediately stepping half in front of the attendant and preventing him from moving forward. He was addressing the sitting man. His voice was firm, but there was no harshness in it, only a tone that demanded answer.

“Martin Garvie,” the man replied huskily. His eyes pleaded for belief, and the fear in him cut Pitt like a knife.

Narraway took a long, slow breath. When he spoke again his voice shook a little in spite of the masklike control in his face. “And I presume that is your master, Stephen Garrick?” He gestured towards the wretched creature still huddled on the other mattress.

Garvie nodded warily. “Please don’t hurt him,” he begged. “He doesn’t mean any harm, sir. He can’t help his ma

“I have no intention of harming him,” Narraway said, then gulped as if he could barely catch his breath. “I’ve come to take you somewhere better than this… safer.”

“You can’t do that, sir!” the attendant protested. “It’s more than my job’s worth to let you-”

Narraway swung around on him, his eyes blazing. “It’s more than your neck is worth to stand in my way!” he threatened. “I can wait for the police, if you insist, but I can promise you that you will regret it if you force me to go that way. Don’t stand there like an idiot or they’ll lock you up in here too!”

Perhaps it was the last suggestion, but the man dissolved in terror. “No, sir! I swear, I’m an honest citizen! I-”

“Good,” Narraway cut him off. He turned to Pitt. “Lift that fellow up and assist him out.” He indicated Garrick, who had not moved, as if the entire intrusion had barely penetrated his consciousness.

Pitt remembered the stricture to obey absolutely, and walked over to the recumbent man. “Let me help you to your feet, sir,” he said gently, trying to sound like a servant, a familiar and unthreatening figure. “You need to stand up,” he encouraged, sliding his hands under the man’s shoulders and easing up what was almost deadweight. “Come on, sir,” he repeated, straining his back to lift.

The man moaned as if in intense pain, and Pitt stopped abruptly.

The next moment Garvie was beside him, bending over. “He’s here to help you, sir!” he said urgently. “He’s taking us to a better place. Come on, now! You’ve got to help! We’re going to be safe.”

Garrick gave a choking cry, and then his body arched and he flung his arms up, covering his face as if to defend himself. Pitt was caught by surprise and lost his balance, lurching backwards into Garvie. He could feel Narraway’s impatience smoldering in the air.

“Come on, Mr. Stephen!” Garvie said sharply. “We’ve got to get out of here. Quickly, sir!”

That seemed to have the desired effect. Whimpering with fear, Garrick rose unsteadily to his feet, lurching one way, then the other, but with Garvie and Pitt supporting him, he stumbled through the door, past Narraway and the attendant, and started off down the passage.

Pitt looked backwards once, to make sure Narraway was following them, and saw him write something on a card and give it to the attendant, then a moment later he heard his rapid footsteps behind him.

Half carrying, half dragging Garrick, who gave them only minimal assistance, Pitt and Garvie made their way back towards the entrance. More than once Pitt hesitated, uncertain whether the turn was left or right, and heard Narraway’s voice directing him with a peremptory hiss. Pitt’s ears were straining for every sound, and once when he heard a door close he whirled around and almost sent Garrick flying.

Narraway snarled at him, and increased his pace. Pitt grasped Garrick again, and they turned the last corner into the entrance hall. He saw two attendants standing there, and would have stopped instantly, but Garrick was oblivious to them and kept shambling on, and Garvie had no choice but to go with him or let him fall.

Pitt recovered his step and caught up with them.

The attendants jerked to attention. “Ey! Where you goin’, then?” one of them called out.

“Go on!” Narraway growled behind Pitt, then turned to face the men.

Pitt grasped Garrick more firmly and, holding him hard, half pushed him at a greater pace out of the door, down the steps, and smartly right towards the waiting hansom. Please heaven Narraway managed to extricate himself from the men and get away too, because Pitt had no idea where he was to take them.

They reached the cab and Garrick stopped abruptly, his body shaking, his hands out in front of him as if to ward off an attack. Garvie put his arms around him gently, but with considerable strength, and with Pitt’s assistance, they lifted him into the hansom. The driver sat facing forward, ignoring everything as though his life depended on seeing and hearing nothing.

Pitt swiveled around to see if Narraway was coming yet.

Inside the cab, Garrick began to thrash around, wailing and sobbing with terror.

Pitt swung up beside him to try to keep him from escaping, or in his delirium injuring Garvie. “It’s all right, sir!” he said urgently. “You’re quite safe. No one’s going to harm you.” He might as well have been speaking in a foreign language.

Garvie was losing control. He was white-faced in the gaslight, and there was panic and helplessness in his eyes. If Narraway did not come soon they were going to have to leave without him.

The seconds ticked by.

“Go around the hospital and back!” Pitt shouted at the driver. “Now!”

The hansom lurched forward, throwing all three of them against the back of the seat. For a few moments Garrick was too surprised to react. Please God, Narraway would be there when they reached the front again. Pitt’s mind raced as to where on earth he could take Garrick if he were not? The only place he was certain of any kind of help at all, and secrecy, was his own home. And what could he and Charlotte do with a madman in delirium? For that matter, how much better was Garvie?